Thin Dark Line
by deaths-playing-cards
Summary: Deputy Rachel Angel Roth can't walk away from the homicide. She found the body... can still hear the phantom echoes of dieing screams, feels the shadow of the woman taken by violence and denied justive. For Rachel and her team, horrors are just begining.
1. Introduction

_''Red is the colour of violent death. Red is the colour of strong feelings-love, passion, greed, anger, hatred._

_Emotions- better not have them._

_Luckier not to have them._

_Love,_

_Passion,_

_Greed,_

_Anger,_

_Hatred._

_The feelings pull one another in a circle. Faster, harder, blurring into violence. I had no power over it._

_Love,_

_Passion,_

_Greed,_

_Anger,_

_Hatred._

_The words pulsed threw my head every time I plunged the knife into her body._

_Hatred,_

_Anger,_

_Greed,_

_Passion,_

_Love._

_The Line between them is Thin and Red.''_

**I dont know if I should continue the story or not cause if ya'll dont like it then I won't post it. Anyway, heres a heads up of whats to come. :-P :-D!**

_Her body lay on the floor. Her slender arms outflung, palms up. Death. Cold and brutal, strangely intimate._

The people rose in the court room as the judge emerged from his chambers. The Honorable Judge Franklin Monahan. The figurehead of justice. The decision would be his.

_Black pools of blood in the silver moonlight. Her life drained from the puddle on the hard crypress floor..._

**Anyway, R&R plz people!!!**


	2. Case dismissed

_Her body lay on the floor. Her slender arms outflung, palms up. Death. Cold and brutal, strangely intimate. _

The people rose in the court room as the judge emerged from his chambers. The Honorable Judge Franklin Monahan. The figurehead of justice. The decision would be his.

_Black pools of blood in the silver moonlight. Her life drained from the puddle on the hard crypress floor._

Chris Kudrow, the defense attornrey. Thin, grey, and slumped shouldered, the fervor for justice weakly corsing his vains while the little muscle mass he wore were tense. Clouded eyes and the whhimper behind his voice gave the image of a scared child.

_Her naked body inscribed with the point of a knife. A work of violent art._

Smith Pritchett, the district attorney. Sturdy and aristocratic. The gold of his cuff links catching the light as he raised his hands in supplication.

_Cries for mercy smothered by the cold shadow of death._

Chaos andd outrage rolled through the crowed in a wave of sound as Monahan pronounced his ruling. The small amethyst ring had not been listed on the search warrent of the defendents home and was, therefore, beyond the scope off the warrent and not legally subject to seizure.

_Pamela Bichon, thirty-seven, separated, mother of a nine year old girl. Brutally murdered. Her naked body found in the vacant house on Pony Bayou, spikes driven through the palms of her hands into the wooden floor; her sightless eyes staring up at nothing through the slits of a feather Mardi Grass mask._

Case dismissed.


	3. Hunter Davidson

The crowd spilled from the Jumpcity Court house, past the thick doric columns and down the broad steps, a buzzing swarm of humanity centering on the key figures of the drama that had played out in Judge Monahan's courtroom.

Smit Pritchett focused his narrow gaze on the navy blue Lincoln that awaited him at the curb and snapped off a staccato line of '' no comments'' to the frenzied press. Richard Kudrow, however, stopped his decent dead center on the steps.

_Trouble_ was the word that came immediately to Rachel Roth as the press began to circle the defense attorney and his client. Like every other deputy in the sheriff's office, she had hoped against hope that Kudrow would fail in his attempt to get the ring thrown out as evidence. Thay had hoped Smith Pritchett would be the one crowing on the Courthouse steps.

Sargent Hooker's voice crackled over the portable radio. '' Greyson, Stone, Ander's, Roth, move in front of those god damn reporters. Establish some distance between the crowd and Kudrow and Renard before this turns into a god damn cluster fuck.''

Rachel edged her way between bodies, her hand resting on the butt of her baton, her eyes on Marcus Renard as Kedrow began to speak. He stood beside his attorney, looking uncomfortable with the attention being focused on him. He wasn't a man to draw notice. Quite, unassuming, an architect in the firm Bowen & Briggs. Not ugly, but not handsome. Thinning brown hair neatly combed and hazel eyes that seemed a bit to big for their sockets. He stood with his sholders stooped and his chest sunken, a younger shadow of his attorney. His mother stood on the step above him, a thin women with a startled expression and a mouth as tight and straight as a hyphen.

'' Some people will call this ruling a travisty of justice,'' Kudrow said lowdly. '' The only travisty of justice here has been perpitrated by the Jumpcity Sheriff's Department. Their _Investigation _of my client has been nothing short of harrassment. Two prier searches of Mr. Renards home produced nothing that might tie him to the murder of Pamela Butchon.''

'' Are you suggesting the Sheriff's Department compromissed evidence?'' A reporter called out.

'' Mr. Renard has been the victim of a narrow and fanatical investigation led by Detective Garfeild Logen. You all are aware of Logen's record from the New Orleans Police Department, of the reputation he brought with him to this fine city. Detective Logen _allegedly _ found the ring in my clients home. Draw your own conclusions.''

As she elbowed past a television cameraman, Rachel could see Logen turned around and half a dozen steps down from Kudrow. The camera's focused on him hastily. His expression was a stone mask, his eyes hidden by a pair of mirrored sunglasses. A cigarette smoldered between his lips. His temper was a thing of ledgend. Rumors abounded throughtout the department that he was not quite sane. But who was in this department?

He said nothing in answer to Kudrow's insinuation, and yet the air between them seemed to thicken. Anticipation held the crowd's breath. Logen pulled the cigartte from his mouth and flung it to the ground, exhaling smoke through his nostrils. Rachel took a half a step toward Kudrow, her fingure curling around the grip of her baton. In the next heartbeat Logen was bounding up the steps- straight at Renard shouting, ''NO!''

'' He'll kill him!'' Someone shouted.

'' Logen!'' Hooker's voice boomed as the fat sargent lunged after him, grabbing at and missing the back of his shirt.

'' You killed her! You killed my baby girl!''

The anquished shouts tore from inside the throat of Hunter Davidson, Pamela Bichon's father, as he hurled himself down the steps at Renard, his eyes rolling, one arm swining madly, the other hand clutching a .45.

Logen knocked Renard aside with a beefy sholder, garbbing Davidson's wrist and shoving it upwards as the .45 barked out a shot and screams went up all around. Rachel hit Davidson from the right side, her much smaller body colliding with his just as Logen threw his weight from the left. Davidson's knee's buckled and they all went down in a tangle of arms and legs, grunting and shouting, bouncing hard down the steps, Rachel at the bottom of the heap. Her breath was pounded out of her as she hit the concrete steps with four hundred pounds of man onto of her.

'' He killed her!'' Hunter Davidson sobbed, his body going limp. '' He butchered my girl!''

Rachel wriggled out from under him and sat up, grimacing. All she could think was that no pysical pain could compare to what this man must have been enduring.

Swiping back the strands of dark hair that had pulled out of her ponytail, she gingerly brushed over the throbbing knot on the back of her head. Her finure tips came away sticky with blood.

'' Take this,'' Logen ordered in a low voice, thrusting Davidson's gun at Rachel butt-first. Frowning, he leaned down and put a hand on the man's sholder even as Richard Greyson snapped the cuffs on him. '' I'm sorry,'' he murmmered. '' I wish I coulda let you kill him.''

'' Rachel pushed to her feet and tried to straighten the bullet proff vest she wore beneath her shirt. Davidson was a good man. An honest, hardworking planter who had put his daughter through collage and walked her down the isle the day she married Donnie Bichon. Her murder had shattered him, and the subsequent lack of justice had driven him over the edge. And tonight Davidson would be sitting in jail while Marcus Renard slept in his own bed.

'' Roth!'' Hooker snapped irritably, suddenly looming over her, porcine and ugly. '' Gimmie that gun. Don't just stand there gawking. Get down to the cruiser and open the god damn doors.''

'' Yes sir.'' Not quite steedy on her feet, she started around the backside of the crowd.

With the danger past, the press was in full cry again, more frenzied than before. Renard's entourage had hustled off the steps. The focus was on Davidson now. Cameramen jolsted one another for shots of the despondent father. Microphones were thrust at Smith Pritchett.

'' Will you file charges?''

'' Will charges be file Mr. Pritchett?''

'' Pritchett, what kind of charges will be filed?''

Pritchett glared at them. '' That remains to be seen. Please back away and let the officers do their job.''

'' Davidson couldn't get justice in court, so he sought to take it himself. Do you feel responsible?''

'' We did our best with the evidence we had.''

'' Tainted evidence?''

'' I didn't gather it,'' he snapped, starting back up the steps towards the courthouse, his face as pink as a new sunburn.

Limping, Rachel descended the last of the steps and opened the back door of the cruiser sitting at the curb. Logen escorted the sobbing Davidson to the car,with Greyson and Hooker just behind them, and Victor Stone and Kori Andrew's flanking them. The crowd rushed along behind them and beside them like quests at a wedding seeing off the happy couple.

'' You gonna book him Logen?'' Hooker asked as Davidson disapered into the back seat.

'' The hell,'' Logen growled, slamming the door. '' He didn't commit the worst crime here today. Even if he would've killed the son of a bitch. Book him yourself.''

The belligrence brought the rise in colour the Hooker's face, but he said nothing a Logen crossed the street to the battered black ford 4x4, climbing in, and drove off in the opposite direction of the jailhouse.

The Sheriff would crew off his ass later., Rachel thought as she headed to her own raio car. But then a breach in the procedure was the least of Logen's worries, and, if anything Kudrow had said was true, the least of his sins.


	4. Meeting the crew

**AUTHORS NOTE!**

**Garfield Logan- Beast Boy**

**Rachel Roth- Raven**

**Richard 'Dick' Greyson- Robin**

**Victor J. Stone- Cyborg**

**Kori Andrews- Starfire**

**Roy Harper- Speedy**

**Gilles Summers- Aqualad**

**Wally West- Kid Flash**

**Xavier Red- RedX (I know! It's weird! But nobody else fit the profile, ya know?)**

**Billy Thibidoux- Use you imaginations people! I don't know, some low life criminal I guess.**

**Okay, I know Beast Boy, a.k.a Garfield Logan, doesn't really talk french, but how the hell am I going to learn his African language? And the characters are a little OOC, but I like to think of it as, like, Gar's letting the Beast get out of hand, ya know? Any way's, enjoy!**

*****

''He's guilty,'' Wally declared. Ignoring the chair he had been offered, he prowled the cramped confines of the sheriff's office, adrenaline burning inside him like a blue gas flame.

''Then why don't we have squat on him, Wally?''

Victor J. Stone kept his seat behind his desk. Raw boned and rough edged, he was working hard to affect an air of calm and rationality, even though the concepts seemed to bounce right off Garfield Logan.

''We had the damn ring,'' Logan snapped, slicking his dirty blond hair back.

''You knew it wasn't on the warrant. You should have known it'd get thrown.''

''No. I thought for once someone in the system would use some common sense. _Mais sa c'est fou_!''

''It's not crazy,'' Wally insisted, translating the raw french automatically. ''We're talking about the rules Gar. The rules are there for a reason. Sometimes we gotta bend em'. Sometimes we gotta sneak around them. But we can't just pretend there not there.''

''So what the hell are we supposed to do?'' Logan asked with stinging sarcasm and an exaggerated shrug. ''Leave the ring at Renard's house, go back, and try to get another warrant? Can't use the 'plain few' argument to get the warrant. Hell, the ring wasn't even in plain sight. So then what? Trace down some of Pam Bitchon's family and start playing 20 questions?''

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers to his forehead. ''I'm thinking something of Pam's might be missing. Can ya'll guess what that might be? _Mais non_, I can't tell you that. That would be _against the god damn fucking rules_!''

''Goddammit Logan!''

''What!? And while we were chasing our tails, trying to follow the rules,'' Logan went on. ''you don't think Renard would be pitching the ring?''

''You could have left Greyson there and come back. And why haden't pitched the ring already? We'd been in his house twice...''

''Third times a charm.''

''He's smarted than that.''

Of all the things Gar had expected Stone to say to him, to insinuate, he hadn't anticipated this. He felt blindsided, then foolish, then told himself it didn't matter. But it did.

''You think I planted that ring?'' he asked in a voice gone dangerously soft.

Victor gave a sigh between his lips. His narrowed eyes glanced a look off Gar's chin and ricocheted elsewhere. ''I didn't say that.''

''You didn't have to. Hell, you don't think that I'm smarted than that? You don't think if I knew I was gonna find that before I went there, I woulda had sense to list the ring on the god damn warrant?''

The sheriff scowled. ''Im not the one who thinks your a rogue dope, Gar. That's Kudrow's game, and he's got the press playing with him.''

''And i'm supposed to give a shit?''

''You, of all people. This case has folk's spooked. They're seeing killer's in every shadow and they want someone put away.''

''Renard-''

Victor raised a hand. '' Save your breath. We all want a conviction on this. I'm just telling you how you look. I'm telling you how this thing can be twisted. Kudrow plants enough doubt, we'll never get this creep. I'm telling you to mind your manners.''

Gar let out the breath he had been holding and turned away from the cluttered desk, resuming his pacing with less energy. '' I'm a detective, not a damn community relations officer. I've got a job to do.''

''You can't just go and do it all over Renard.''

''So i'm supposed to do what? Have a gypsy conjure me up some more suspects? Cast suspicion on someone else, just to be fair? Buy into the bullshit theory this murder is the work of a serial killer everyone knows got his ticket punched in for him a long time ago?''

'' You can't keep leaning on Renard, Gar. Not without some solid evidence or a witness or something. That's harassment, and he'll argue our asses eight ways from Sunday.'' Wally added.

''Oh well, god forbid he sue us,'' Gar sneered.'' A murderer!''

'' A citizen!'' Wally yelled, thumping Victor's desk between stacks of paperwork. '' A citizen with rights and a god damn good lawyer to make sure we respect them. This isn't some lowlife dirt bag you're dealing with here. He's an anchorite, for Christ's sake.''

'' He's a killer.''

''Then you nail him and you nail him by the book. I've got enough parish to deal with half the people thinking the Bayou Strangler's been raised from the dead and half of them spoiling for the lynching- Renard's, your, mine. This fire's burning hot enough, I don't need you throwing gas on it. You don't want to defy me on this Gar. I'm telling you right now.''

''Telling me what?'' Gar challenged. ''To back off? Or do you want me off the case all together Rich?''

''Keep a loss profile, for crying out loud.'' Wally said with registration as he lowered himself into his own chair. ''Let someone help you with the case. Don't get in Renard's face.''

''He killed her, Wally. He wanted her and she didn't want him. So he stalked her. Her terrorized her. He kidnapped her. He tortchured her. He killed her. But _merde_, maybe I shoulda let Davidson kill him.''

''Then it'd be Davidson up for murder.''

''Pritchett's filing charges?''

'' He doesn't have a choice.'' Wally picked up a arrest report, looked at it, and then put it to the side. '' Davidson tried to kill Renard in front of fifty witnesses. Let that be a lesson if your planning on killing someone.''

''Can I go?''

Wally gave Logan a long look. ''Your not planning on killing someone, are you, Gar?''

'' I've got work to do.''

Gar's expression was inscrutable, his dark green eyes unreadable. He slipped on his sunglasses. Wally's stomach called out loudly for his lunch. He jabbed a finger at his detective. ''You keep that coonass temper in check, Logan. It's already landed your butt in water hot enough to boil crawfish. Blaming cops is in vogue these days. And your name is on the tip of everyone's toung.''

*****

Rachel loitered in the open doorway to the briefing room, a leaking Baggie of melting ice pressed to the knot on the back of her head. She had changed out of her torn, dirty uniform into the jeans and T-shirt she kept in her locker. She strained to make out the argument going on in the sheriff's office down the hall, but only the tone was conveyed. Impatient, angry.

The press had been speculating even before the evidentiary hearing that Logan would lose his job over the screw up on the warrant, but then the press liked to make noise and understood little if not any of the police work. They had written much about the public's frustration of the cops working the case. They all but called for public hanging of the suspect based on nothing more than hearsay evidence, than spun around 180 degrees and pointed fingers at the detective in charge of the case when he finally came up with something tangible.

No one had any evidence Logan had planted that ring in Renard's desk drawer. It didn't make sense that he would have planted evidence but not listed it on the warrant. There was every possibility Renard himself put the ring in that drawer himself, never imagining his house would be searched for a third time. Perpetrators of sex-related homicides tended to keep souvenirs of their victims. Everything from pieces of jewelry to pieces of bodies. That was a fact.

Rachel had attended the seminar on sexual predator three months before the Bichon murder. She took as many extra courses as she could in preparation for one-day making detective. That was her goal-to work in plain cloths, dig deep into the mysteries of the crimes she now dealt with only at the outset of a case.

The crime-scene slides the class instructor had shown them had been horrific. Crimes of unspeakable cruelty and brutality. Victims tortured and mutilated in ways no sane person could have ever imagined in their worst nightmares. But then she not longer had to imagine. She had been the one to discover Pam Bichon's body.

She had been off duty the weekend the real estate agent was reported missing. On a routine Monday morning, Rachel had found herself drawn to a vacant house out on Pony Bayou. The place had been for sale for months, though the renters had moved out only five or six weeks previous. A rusted Bayou Realty sign had fallen owner on one side of the overgrown drive. Something she had read in _Police Magazine _made Rachel turn into the drive way- an article about how female real-estate agents each year are lured to remote properties, then raped and murdered.

Hidden in the brambles behind the dilapidated house sat a white mustang convertible, top up. Rachel ran it to be certain. The plate's cam back to Pamela K. Bichon, no wants, no warrants, reported missing two days previous. And in the dining room of the old house it was Pam Bichon she found... or what was left of her.

She still saw the scene too often when she closed her eyes. The nails in her hands. The mutilation. The blood. The mask. The flashbacks still waking her in the dead of night, the images intertwining with a nightmare four years old. The smell still burned in her nostrils from time to time, when she least expected it. The putrid miasma of a violent death. Cloying, choking, thick with the scent of fear.

A chill ran up her now, twisting and coiling in her stomach. The baggie dribbled ice water down the back of her neck, and she flinched and swore under her breath.

'' Hey Roth,'' Deputy Roy Harper slide past her through the doorway to the break room. '' I heard you were a cold one. How come that ice is melting?''

Rachel shot him a wry look. ''Must be all your hot air, Harper.''

He gave her a wink, his grin flashing white against his dark sunglasses. '' My hot charm, you mean.''

''Is that what you call it?'' she teased. ''Here I thought it was gas.''

Laughter rolled behind her, Harper's included.

'' You got him again Roth.'' Gilles Summers said.

''I quit keeping score,'' she said, glancing down the hall towards the sheriff's office. '' It got to where it was just cruel.''

'' Friends, you should have seen Mr. Logan!'' Kori Andrews said with a big grin. '' He moves like a panther, him! Talk about!''

''Yeah, he was on Davidson like that.'' Gilles snapped his fingers. ''And there's women screaming and the gun going off and nine kinds of hell all at once. It was a regular goddamn circus.''

''And where were you through all this Roth?'' Richard Greyson asked, having just entered the room. He turned his pale eyes on Rachel.

Tension rose inside her as she returned the detective's stare/

''At the bottom of the pile,'' Xaviour Red snickered. '' Where a women belongs.''

''Yeah, like you'd know,'' She tossed her dripping ice bag into the trash. ''You read that in a book Xaviour?''

''You think he can read?'' Gilles said with mock astonishment.

''_Penthouse_,'' someone suggested.

''Naw,'' Harper drawled, elbowing Summers. '' He just looks at the pictures and milks his lizard.''

'' Fuck you, Harper.'' Red rose and headed for the candy machine, hitching his pants up his skinny hips and digging in his pocket for change.

'' Jesus, don't fish it out here, Red!''

''Christ,'' Richard muttered in disgust.

He had the kind of looks that could draw a women's eye. Tall, trim, athletic. An interesting combination of features hinted at his mixed family background- long dark hair spiked from the head, skin that shaded a little more brown than white. He had a slim nose and a Dudley Do-Right mouth.

His face would have looked good on a recruiting poster with his square jaw and chin, the light turquoise eyes piercing out from beneath heavy black sunglasses. But Greyson wasn't the type in any other respect. He cultivated a laid-back , free spirit image advertised by his unconventional clothing, which today consisted of baggy gray janitors pants and a square-bottomed shirt.

'' You steal that off Chi Chi Rodriguez?'' Rachel asked.

'' Come on Roth,'' Richard murdered with a sly smile. '' You want me. You're always looking at me. Am I right or Am I right?''

'' Your full of shit and you're kinda hard to miss in that getup. So where were you during all the fun? You been working the Bichon case just as much as Logan.''

He leaned a sholder against the doorjamb, glancing out into the hall. ''Gar's the primary. I had to go out of town. They picked up my meth dealer on a DUI.''

'' And that required your person attention?''

''Hey, I've been looking to nail that rat for months.''

'' If they had him in their jail, then what was the hurry?''

Greyson flashed his teeth. ''Hey, no time like the present. You know what i'm saying. The warrants come out of this parish. I want Billy Thibidoux on my resume ASAP.''

'' You left Logan swinging in the breeze so you could have Billy in your jacket. Yeah, I'd wanna be your partner Dick.'' Rachel said with derision.

'' Gar's a big boy. He didn't need me. And you...'' His eyes hardened a bit, even though his smile stayed firmly in place. '' I thought we'd already covered that ground, Roth. You had your chance. But hey, I'm a generous guy. I'd be willing to give you another shot... out of uniform, so to speak.''

_'I'd rather mud wrestle alligators in the nude_. But she kept that remark to herself, when she would be ready to toss it out at any of her other co-workers. She knew from experience that Richard didn't take rejection very well.

He reached out unexpectintly and pressed his thumb against the darkening bruise along the crown of her left cheekbone. ''You're gonna have a shiner, Roth.'' He dropped his hand as she pulled back. '' Looks good on you.''

'' You're a jerk,'' she muttered, turning away, knowing she was the only one in the department who thought so. Richard 'Dick' Greyson was everyone's pal... except for hers.

The door to the sheriff's office swung open and Logan stormed our, his expression deadly, his tie jerked loose at the throat of his tan shirt. He dug a cigarette out of his breast pocket.

''We're fucked!'' he snapped at Greyson, not slowing his stride.

'' I heard.''

Rachel watched them go down the hall. Greyson had been working the Bichon case when Pam was alive and claiming Renard was stalking her. He had missed the homicide call, but worked the case as Logan's partner. They weren't being held up to the public as a team, though. It was Logan's name in the papers, Logan, who had come to the Partout Parish to cheak it out, Logan who had found the ring. Greyson wouldn't be raked over the coals after today's hearing. He had assured that by making himself scarce.

'' Billy Thibidoux, my ass.'' she grumbled under her breath.


	5. God, he looked away

**AUTHERS NOTE!**

**I updated my last chapter. I corrected the spelling and what not, and changed a name or two around. And this chapter is kinda… well pointless, but whatever! You get to meet Pam's kids. Melvin, and you hear about Timmy Tantrum and Tommy Teether, and about Rachel and her mom.**

**So… Enjoy!**

********

Rachel stayed late to finish her report on the Davidson incident. When she came out of the building at 5:06, the parking lot behind the law enforcement center was deserted except for a pair of trustees washing the sheriffs new suburban. The day-shift deputies had split homes or seconds jobs or stools in their favorite bars. The press had taken Smith Pritchett's brief official statement on Hunter Davidson's situation and gone off to meet their deadlines.

A sense of false peace held the moment. Any stranger walking through Jump City would have remarked on the lovely afternoon. Spring had arrived unusually early, filling the air with the perfume of sweet olive and wisteria. Window boxes on the second floor galleries of the historic business district were bursting with color and overflowing greenery, ivy trailing down the wrought iron and wood railings. Store windows had been decorated for the upcoming Mardi Gras carnival. Down on the corner, old Tante Lucesse sat on a folding chair weaving a pine-needle basket and singing hymns for passerby.

But underlying the veneer of peace was something sinister. A raw nerve of disquiet. As the sun went down on Jump City, a killer sat somewhere in the gathering gloom. That knowledge tainted the shabby beauty here like a stain seeping across a tablecloth. Murder. Whether you believed Renard was the killer or not, a murderer was loose among them, free to do as he pleased.

It wasn't the first time, which made it impossible to discount as an aberration. Death had stalked this path before. The memories had barely gone stale. The death of Pam Bichon had dragged them to the surface, has awakened fear and stirred up doubt.

Six women in the five different parishes had died over an eighteen-month period between 1992 and 1993. Raped, strangled and sexually mutilated. Two of the victims had come from Jump City- Chandelle Monotonies and Henrietta Fouler- whom Rachel had known her entire life. The crimes had shocked the people of Jump City's french triangle into a state of near panic, and the conclusion of the case had shocked them all even more.

The stories had put Jump City on the map and in the spotlight for a short time, but the glare faded and the horror was put aside. The case was closed. The evil had burned out. Life had returned to normal. Until Pam Bichon.

Her death was too close for comfort, to similar. All those old fears bubbled to the surface, divided and multiplied. Folks were eager to accept Renard as Bichon's killer. But even with a target to point fingers at, the underlying fear remained: a superstition, a half-conscious belief that the evil was indeed a phantom, that this place had been cursed.

Rachel felt it herself- an edginess, a low-frequency hum that skimmed along her nerves at night, an instinct that heightened the awareness of every sound, a sense of vulnerability. Every women in the parish felt it, perhaps more so this time then the last. Pam Bichon had led a normal life, had a good job, came from a nice family… and a killer had chosen her. If it could happen to Pam Bichon…

Rachel felt the uneasiness within her now, felt it press in around her as if the air had suddenly become denser. The sense of being watched inched across the back of her neck. But when she turned around, it was no evil gargoyle staring at her. A small white face with big sad eyes peered at her over the steering wheel of her jeep. Melvin Bichon.

'' Hey, Melvin,'' she said, letting herself in on the passenger's side. ''Where y'at?''

The little girl laid her cheek against the steering wheel and shrugged. She was a beautiful child with brown hair that hung like a thick curtain to her waist when it was out of the pigtails. Brown eyes too soulful for her years. In a denim jumper and floppy denim hat, the brim pinned up in front with a big silk sunflower, she could have been modeling for the GAP kids fashion shoot.

'' You here on your own?''

'' No. I came with Grandma to see Grandpa. They wouldn't let me go in.''

'' Sorry Melvin. They've got rules about letting kids in jail.''

'' Ya, everyone's got rulers for kids. I wish I could make a rule for once.'' She reached out and tapped a finger against the plastic raven the hung from the rearview mirror. '' Rule number one: no treating me like a baby, cause im not. Rule number two: no lying to me for my own good.''

'' You heard about what happened at the courthouse?'' Rachel asked gently.

'' It was on the radio while I was in art class. Grandpa tried top shoot the man that killed my mom, and he was arrested. At first, Grandma tried to tell me that her tripped and fell down the courthouse steps. She lied to me.''

'' I'm sure she didn't mean it to be a lie Melvin. Imagine how scared she must have been. She didn't want to scare you too.''

Melvin gave her an expression that spoke eloquently of her feelings on the subject. From the moment her family had been notified of her mother's death, Melvin and her brother, Timmy and Tommy, had been fed half-truths, gently pushed aside while the adults whispered concerns and secrets. Her father and her grandparents and aunts and uncles had done their best to wrap them in an insulation of misinformation, never imagining that what they were doing only hurt her more. But Rachel knew.

'' Mama, Mama! We're home! Look what Uncle Sos got me at Disney World! It's Minnie Mouse!''

_The kitchen door banged shut and she stopped in her tracks. The person sitting at the kitchen table wasn't her mother. Father Goetz rose from the chair, his face grave, and Enola Meyette, a fat women who always smelled of sausage, came away from the sink drying her hands on a red checkered towel._

'' _Allons, cherie,'' Mrs. Meyette said, holding out one dimpled hand, ''We go down the store. Get you candy, oui?'' _

Rachel had known right then something was wrong. The memory still brought back the same sick twisting in her stomach she had felt that day. She could see herself clearly at nine, eyes wide with fear, a chokehold on her new stuffed Minnie Mouse, as she was pulled away from the truth Father Goetz had come to deliver: the while Rachel was on her first ever vacation trip with Tante Fanchon and Uncle Sos, Arella Roth had taken her own life.

Rachel had taken it upon herself to answer Melvin's questions when the sheriff's office had sent its representatives to break the news to Hunter Davidson and his wife. And Melvin, Timmy and Tommy, had some how made an instant and yet-to-be-severed connection.

'' You could have come to the sheriff's office and asked for me,'' Rachel said.

Melvin tapped the raven again and watched in swing. '' I didn't want to be with people. Not if I couldn't see Grandpa Hunt and ask him what really happened.''

'' I was there.''

'' Did he really try to kill the guy?''

Rachel chose her words carefully. '' He might have if Detective Logan hadn't seen the gun in time.''

'' I wish he had shot him dead.'' Melvin declared.

'' People can't take the law into their own hands, Melvin.''

'' Why? Because it's against the rules? That guy killed my mom. What about the rules _he_ broke? He should have to pay for what he did.''

'' That's what the courts are for.''

'' But the judge let him go!'' Melvin cried, frustration and pain tangled in a knot in her throat. The same frustration and pain Rachel had heard in Hunter Davidson's broken sobs.

'' Just for now,'' Rachel said, hoping the promise wasn't really as empty as it felt to her. '' Just until we can get some better evidence against him.''

Tears welled up in Melvin's eyes and spilled over. '' Then why can't you find it? You're a cop and you're my friend. You're supposed to understand! You said you'd help! You're supposed to make sure he gets punished! Instead you put my grandpa in jail! I hate this!'' She hit her hand against the steering wheel, blasting the horn. '' I hate everything!''

Melvin scrambled from the drivers seat and dashed toward the law enforcement center. Rachel hopped out of the jeep and started after her. But she pulled herself short when she saw Bella Davidson and Timothy Watson, the Davidson's attorney, coming out the side door.

The women's lips thinned as her gaze hit Rachel. She pulled her granddaughter into a brief hug before pulling out and starting across the parking lot.

'' You have an awful nerve Deputy Roth,'' She declared. '' Throwing my husband in jail instead of my daughter's murderer, then playing up to my granddaughter as if you have a right to her devotion.''

'' I'm sorry you feel that way,'' Rachel said. '' But we couldn't let your husband shoot Marcus Renard.''

'' He wouldn't have been driven to such desperation if not for the incompetence of you people in the sheriffs department. You let a guilty man run free all over town due to carelessness and oversight. By God, I've got half a mind to shoot him myself!''

'' Bella!'' the lawyer whined as he caught up to his client. '' I told you, you shouldn't say that infront of people.''

'' Of for God's sake, Timothy. My daughter has been murdered. People would think it strange I _didn't _say these things.''

'' We're doing the best we can Mrs. Davidson.'' Rachel said.

'' And what have you come up with? Nothing! You're a disgrace to your uniform- when you're wearing it.''

She gave Rachel's faded t-shirt a sharply dubious look that had likely sent many Junior Leaguer's home in tears.

'' I'm not working your daughters case ma'am. It's up to Detective Logan and Greyson.''

Bella Davidson's expression only hardened. '' Don't make excuses, Deputy. We all have obligations in this life to go beyond boundaries. You found my daughter's body. You saw what-'' She cut herself off, looking down at Melvin. When she turned back to Rachel, her dark eyes glistened with tears. '' You _know. _How can you turn your back on that? How can you turn your back on that and still show your face to my granddaughter?''

'' It's not Rachel's fault Grandma,'' Melvin said, though the gaze she lifted to Rachel was tainted with disappointment.

'' Don't say that Melvin,'' Bella admonished softly as she slipped an arm around her granddaughter's shoulders and pulled her close. '' That's what's wrong with the world today. Nobody will take responsibility for anything.''

'' I want justice too, Mrs. Davidson,'' Rachel said. '' But it has to be within the system.''

'' Deputy, the only thin we've gotten within the system so far is _in_justice.''

As they walked away, Melvin looked back over her shoulder, her brown eyes huge and sad. For an instant Rachel felt as if she were watching herself walking away into the painful haze of her past, the memory pulling out from the core like a string.

'' What happened Tante Fanchon? Where's Mama?''

'' _Your Mama, she's in heaven, ma 'tite fille.''_

'' _But why?''_

'' _It was an accident chere. God, he looked away.''_

'' _I don't understand.''_

'' _Non, chere 'tite bete. Someday. When you get older…''_

But she had hurt right then, and promises of later had done nothing to soothe the pain.


End file.
